


Just Asking For It

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Dom!Jack, Dubious Consent, Games Jack and Ianto Play, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Sex Toys, Slash, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Blatant insubordination was something he would never hazard at work. But here, in Jack’s personal quarters, on their own time... they were still making up the rules as they went along."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Ianto knew he shouldn't be trying to get out of the handcuffs. He really did. It's just that he _could_ get out of the handcuffs, and once he'd figured that out, the temptation to do so had been steadily building the whole time that Jack had been gone.

_Twenty-five minutes._

It was a long time to wait, lying on his back, naked, with each wrist and ankle attached to a different leg of Jack’s cot with novelty padded handcuffs. It was a long time with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and wait for Jack to return, especially when he'd figured out in the first two minutes that he could escape.

Jack hadn't counted on him knowing the old magician's trick of tensing one's arm while being restrained, and as a result, hadn't fastened the cuff as tight as he should have. If Jack had even noticed that Ianto's right hand had clenched into a fist during the delicious struggle that had taken place to get him bound to the bed in the first place, he must have thought it merely a flailing move on the part of a desperate man.

It hadn't been. Ianto had known exactly what he was doing, from the moment he’d mentioned the handcuffs (a gag gift from Owen, though why there six pairs in the box was a mystery) and then casually suggested that there was no way Jack would ever get him to wear those, _uh-uh_.

This had been met with the predictable result of Jack launching himself at Ianto, pinning him to the bed, then stripping Ianto of his t-shirt and boxers and cuffing each limb in turn. Ianto had fought back just enough to make it interesting, and soon found himself splayed across the cot, helpless, breathless, and at Jack’s mercy.

Jack had teased Ianto for a while, running his fingers and his lips up and down Ianto's bound body until the younger man was groaning with desire, then abruptly stood, told Ianto to “stay put”, and then climbed up the ladder that led out of his little bunker and into his office.

The hatch had closed with a dull metallic “clank”, sealing him in, causing Ianto to gasp with surprise and frustration. OK, he hadn’t expected _that._

But he had an escape plan all the same. After a few stunned seconds of blinking at the ceiling, Ianto put it to the test, and discovered that, if he worked at it a bit, he had just enough wiggle room to slip his right hand free. If the cuffs had been higher quality, the trick never would have worked, but these had been designed for comfort and play, not for someone who might make a serious attempt to escape.

At first it had felt so good lying on Jack's cot, at Jack's mercy, with the man’s unique scent still lingering in the air and the memory of his attentions still raising goosebumps all over his body, that Ianto hadn't done anything with this discovery. Drunk on lust and anticipation, he had been content to wait, savoring the way all his senses were heightened, especially that of touch. The cool air on his exposed skin, the pounding of his pulse in his ears and his cock, and the tangled sheet pressing into his back filled his awareness for a while.

A short while. All too soon, Ianto’s mind started ticking, jumping from thought to thought, and urging his body to move along with it.

He flexed his feet experimentally, then jerked his legs to see how much give there was in the ankle cuffs (none). He wriggled his hips to see if he could turn over enough to get the sheet to rub against his erection (he couldn’t). He tugged at the wrist cuffs to see if they would let go on their own (they didn’t.) He turned his head from side to side to ease a crick that had developed whilst wrestling with Jack (it went away). Then he ran out stuff to do.

Simply waiting might have been easier if he had exhausted all his options. But he had another one, didn't he? Did he dare take it? It would mean disobeying Jack’s orders, and that would be just asking for it _,_ as they say.

But asking for what, exactly?

He knew Jack well, but not that well. Not enough to know what he would do in the face of blatant insubordination. It was something he’d never hazard at work. But here, in Jack’s personal quarters, on their own time, the rules were a little bit looser. In fact, they were making them up as they went along.

What would happen?

_Thirty minutes._

Ianto knew it had been thirty minutes because he had a time-sense almost as accurate as the vintage stopwatch he kept at his desk for work and play. At any given time, he could usually calculate how much time had passed without consciously keeping track. That much awareness was both a gift and a curse, depending on the circumstances. At times like these, it seemed more of a curse, because the minutes seemed to drag. But it either count them, or wonder…

What would happen?

_Thirty-one minutes._

Ianto started bending and twisting his right wrist.

_Thirty-four minutes._

His fingers were mashed together and extended as far as they would go, and his whole hand was tingling and heading towards numb, but he’d nearly got it. One more twist and…

His wrist was free.

It was a simple matter to twist at the waist, reach over the side of the bed, and unfasten his other wrist. The cuffs didn’t even have a lock _._

_'Too easy.'_

Ianto was sat up in the bed, nearly doubled in half as he endeavored to free his left ankle, when he heard the metallic “squawk” of metal hinges overhead. Torn between racing to finish his work and lying back down and trying to pretend that nothing had happened (both of which he realized were impossible as soon as he’d thought them), Ianto froze.

At _thirty-six minutes_ , Jack came down the ladder, and Ianto was so busted.


	2. Chapter Two

Suddenly Jack was standing at the base of the ladder. For a long, agonizing moment he did nothing, but Ianto could _feel_ the man’s gaze boring into his back.

“What are you doing, Ianto?” Jack finally inquired in an icy tone that seemed to cause the temperature in the room to drop precipitously.

Ianto shivered, and his intended reply, ' _I’d have thought that was fairly obvious, Sir,'_ froze somewhere between his brain and his lips.

“Umm…” he heard himself saying instead, which might have actually been the most humiliating thing about the situation so far. Ianto was never at a loss for words. Never.

He had thought he would be standing for this encounter, leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face, or lounging in a position of his choosing on the bed, reading one of Jack’s books, perhaps. The fact that he wasn’t was throwing him off. As was Jack’s reaction. He’d expected disbelief and amusement, or a flash of hot anger that could be easily redirected into fiery passion. Not this furious, imperious Jack.

Ianto started to wonder if he’d miscalculated here.

A few strides brought Jack to stand next to him, and Ianto noted that he was now fully dressed, right down to his bracers and boots, which served to remind Ianto all over again just how naked he was. Jack’s unique scent enveloped him and he stifled a groan. Ianto’s arousal had abated during his wait but being this close to Jack was turning him on again. He wanted Jack to touch him, somehow, some way. But Jack folded his arms instead.

“Well, aren’t you the little escape artist? Go on then. Continue what you were doing. Don’t mind me.”

Ianto’s cheeks flamed at the mockery he detected. He ducked his head and fumbled at the cuff around his ankle with fingers gone suddenly clumsy. It took several tries, and when he finally pulled his ankle free, the cuff fell to the floor with a “clunk” that seemed entirely too loud in the small space.

Ianto shifted on the bed and reached for the remaining cuff. He proved more dexterous with this one, and soon it was lying on the floor as well.

He felt a bit better then, and some of the impishness that had motivated him to free himself in the first place came back. He pulled his legs onto the bed and stretched them out, then indulged in a languid full-body stretch, pulling his arms over his head and arching his back, like someone just waking up from a nap.

He knew Jack loved looking at the long, lean lines of his body and he could see him now, out of the corner of his eye, drinking in the sight. Ianto turned his head and caught Jack’s eye, and gave him his best “do you like what you see?” smile, coy as hell. He tilted his head back, baring his throat, his chest, his whole body in invitation.

Surely now Jack would touch him.

Jack did, but not in the way Ianto had hoped for.

The man was a blur of motion. He swooped down and before Ianto knew what was happening Jack had yanked him off the bed and shoved him to his knees, the impact vibrating through his joints and shins. He tried to rise and to push Jack off—and found to his dismay that he hadn’t been the only one holding back during their first wrestling bout. Jack completely overpowered him.

Jack twisted Ianto’s left arm behind him and snapped cold metal onto Ianto’s right wrist when it came up to fend him off, then jerked the left arm around to cuff that wrist to its mate. Ianto glanced down to find his wrists encircled in heavy-duty handcuffs; no toys, these.

Jack held him in place with one hand to the back of his neck while he did—something--behind him, and then jerked Ianto to his feet, spun him around, and attached his handcuffs to a rope that was dangling from a hook in the ceiling.

Ianto gaped at the hook, and wondered when the hell Jack had put that there. Or had it always been there? It wasn’t like him not to notice such a thing—but then again, he’d only been into Jack’s room a handful of times, and his focus hadn’t exactly been on inventorying the furnishings.

Well, his focus was here, now, for sure. Jack moved away from him, pulling on the rope as he went, yanking Ianto’s arms upwards. Jack continued to move, adjusting the rope as he went, until Ianto’s arms were raised over his head and he was forced onto his tip-toes to keep them from being tugged too painfully.

Jack tied the rope off somewhere out of Ianto’s line of sight, and then returned to stand in front of him in a power stance--chin up, arms folded, and legs spread wide. Ianto felt dizzy from want. If only Jack didn’t look so thoroughly pissed off .

“I wanted to go easy on you, but you just had to push it, didn’t you, Ianto?”

Ianto, distracted by how authoritative Jack sounded, was barely able to process the words and made no reply.

Jack reached out and took Ianto’s jaw in a firm grip that was just shy of painful.

“Let’s get something straight, shall we? When you wear my cuffs, you will answer me promptly in one of two ways: ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘No, Sir’. Unless I ask for specific information, in which case you will give it to me in as concise a manner as you can. There will be no hemming and hawing, silences, unnecessary details or sarcastic remarks. Do you understand?”

Ianto found his voice at last.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And when I give you an order, you will follow it to the letter. How you feel about it, or what it may cost you, doesn’t matter. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Really, I’m disappointed I have to explain all this. You certainly seemed to have understood what an 'order' was before this evening. You even showed some flair by figuring out the proper use of 'Sir' all on your own. But perhaps I overestimated you.”

Jack sighed and Ianto cast his gaze to the ground.

Jack released Ianto’s jaw. “So while I’m explaining things, let me remind you that the only exception to these rules is your safeword. Do you remember it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Ianto said, his voice a bit stronger, encouraged by the slight softening he thought he heard in Jack’s tone.

 _‘Yvonne.'_   (As in Hartman. Jack had howled with laughter the night Ianto had chosen it. "That’s a buzzkill, all right," he’d said, while Ianto had merely smiled demurely.)

“Good. Use it if you need it. Otherwise, you will do what I tell you when I tell you, and you will address me properly at all times.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jack’s fingers brushed Ianto’s lips, and it took all Ianto had not to lean into the touch. It seemed like every muscle in his body was trembling with a combination of excitement, anticipation, and the stress of the unfamiliar position.

Jack started to circle Ianto then. Warm fingers trailed across Ianto’s shoulder, down his spine, across both arse cheeks, and then around the other side, brushing across his hip. They took a sharp turn upward just before they would have reached his cock. Ianto sighed, then sucked in his breath as Jack’s fingers travelled across his stomach. It tickled, and reflexively he danced backward on his toes until the pressure in his wrists, arms and shoulders stopped him short. He inched back into position.

“And to think I was going to make you come when I came back,” Jack said, regret seeping into his voice. “You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Jack’s fingers brushed a nipple, then pinched it. Ianto gasped.

“Well, that’s off the table for now. All because I tried to make you comfortable, but apparently, you didn’t want comfortable.” Jack pinched the nipple harder and stepped away.

“You won’t be comfortable now, I’m afraid.”

Ianto didn’t like the sound of that one bit. Well, most of him didn’t. His cock, however, seemed to think Jack’s domineering manner, teasing touches, and not-so-veiled threats were quite exciting. Despite the coolness of the room, he was nearly fully erect.

Jack disappeared behind Ianto, who tried to turn his head to see what he was doing. Jack cuffed him lightly across the cheek, forcing him to face forward again, and then suddenly, the world was plunged into darkness as a cloth came down over his eyes. Ianto sucked in his breath in surprise as Jack knotted something tightly behind his head.

_'Silk. Definitely silk.'_

“Believe me, this hurts me as much as it hurts you,” Jack said from behind him.

Ianto heard a creak as the ladder took Jack’s weight. The “ _clank_ ” that signaled that Jack had left again reverberated through his bones.

Ianto somehow doubted that this hurt Jack as much as it hurt him, especially as the reality of his predicament set in. He could come down onto his heels, but that caused his arms to stretch painfully, and the metal of the cuffs to dig into his wrists. Standing on his tip-toes relieved the pressure on his arms and wrists, but would cause his legs to cramp over time.

Time. He wondered how long Jack intended to leave him here, exactly. It might be a long night.

But he _had_ asked for it.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

_Thirty minutes (again)._

Ianto figured Jack’s return was imminent. He’d waited thirty-one minutes before attempting to escape the last time, so it made sense that Jack would keep him here the same amount of time to atone for messing up. He’d be along any minute now.

At _forty minutes_ , Ianto started to suspect he was wrong.

At _forty-five_ minutes, he knew he was.

 

_One hour._

Surely Jack would come now. One hour was a good time to wait. It was a nice, neat increment of time. It was 1/24th of a day and 1/8th of a normal workday (he remembered those from Torchwood One.). It was a good length of time to leave someone trussed up and alone if you were trying to make a point. Ianto was certain that he’d gotten the point.

_One hour, ten minutes. Probably._

His biceps and shoulders ached. His calves burned when he was standing flat, and even more when he went up on his toes. It grew increasingly difficult to keep track of the passing time. He’d never realized how much his time sense depended on subtle cues from his environment, like a radio babbling in the background, or the Hub’s lights that brightened or dimmed automatically depending on the time of day. There was none of that in here.

He started to review the events of the evening, again, wondering what he could have done differently, and how it might have turned out. It was rather a pointless exercise, but it distracted him from his mounting sexual frustration and various aches and pains.

He'd realized, early on, that Jack had been way too prepared for this. The man's movements had been too efficient; the tools he’d used had been too handy. Ianto was certain there hadn’t been professional handcuffs and rope lying around earlier—those were things one tended to notice. No, Jack had to have brought them, and the blindfold, when he’d returned to catch Ianto in the act.

That meant Jack had been watching Ianto while he was making his escape. Maybe watching him the _whole time_ he’d been bound to the bed. This realization came with a rush of mixed emotions.

At first, he felt reassured. Though he currently seemed abandoned and alone, he wasn’t. Jack was watching him. Jack would know if he was in any major distress. He could use his safeword if he had to (though he had no intention of doing so.) As strange as it sounded under the circumstances, Ianto felt taken care of.

He also felt flattered. Jack was probably _watching him right now_. Should he put on a show? There wasn’t much he could do, really, but endure it. That _was_ the show, he supposed. He could struggle, or kick, or fumble at the handcuffs, but it would be waste of energy.  He wasn’t going anywhere this time and he knew it.

He could, he supposed, try to be entertaining. He could wriggle seductively, or beg prettily, or, hell, even belt out the Welsh national anthem—Jack would probably love it. But he didn't really feel like doing any of those things. Because part of him, the defiant part whose actions had landed him in this predicament in the first place, didn't want to give Jack the satisfaction.

That Jack could just sit at his desk or wherever he was, coolly watching Ianto suffer while he did whatever he was doing, was frustrating.

 _‘Wanking probably,’_ Ianto thought with a snort, though there’d been no sign of that when Jack had last appeared. He’d been fully dressed for a day at the office and quite in control of himself as well. Maybe he actually _had_ been working?

Ianto found that hard to believe. Jack was such a barrel of energy he could barely stay on task under the best of conditions. But then again, the man was so perverse anything was possible. Maybe a live CCTV feed of his naked and bound lover was just the motivation Jack needed to get through his paperwork. A little spark that even Ianto’s coffee couldn’t provide.

Ianto laughed out loud at the thought and realized that despite the physical discomfort and the frustration, he was enjoying himself.  For a guy whose tastes ran toward worsted-wool suits, exotic coffee and high thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, it was a surprising discovery.

It wasn’t the discomfort _per se_ that he enjoyed.  It was the fact that its nagging presence, and the shifts of position necessary to relieve it, were keeping him firmly rooted in the here and now. Since this ordeal had begun, his world had narrowed to three things:  his body (which he usually ignored), what he could perceive of his surroundings (which wasn’t much) and Jack (always a stimulating subject to contemplate.) The fact that he was losing track of time was a testament to just how narrow his world had become. Within the confines of the small bunker, time was ceasing to have much meaning at all. To Ianto, who was accustomed to scheduling his life right down to the minute, this was, frankly, a relief. 

With no tasks to do, no future to worry about or a past to obsess over, he was free to just be. All he had to do was endure what Jack wanted him to, and everything would be fine.

Jack. The mere thought of the man kept the blood flowing to Ianto’s nether regions. 

He’d been drawn to Jack’s self-confidence and take-charge attitude from day one. Jack wore power well, maybe even better than he that greatcoat of his. And as in the case of the flamboyant coat, Jack got away with things a lesser man could not just because he believed that he could.

Ianto always wondered what it would be like to be at the mercy of all that power.  Now he was finding out. Being the singular focus of the man’s attention, as unconventional as that attention might currently be, was intoxicating. That Jack hadn’t hesitated to use force when necessary only added to the excitement.

Ianto was back to feeling flattered. He sighed contentedly.

Maybe that’s why he had been so “difficult” earlier. He’d wanted to submit, but something in him couldn’t give up without a fight. His self-control was such an integral part of him he couldn’t give it up that easily. Too, he’d always had a mischievous streak. He’d been driven to test Jack in spite of himself. 

Jack hadn’t disappointed him.  Ianto would never forget this night as long as he lived.

‘Assuming I survive it, of course’, he thought with a wry laugh. Then he winced as the movement tugged at sore chest muscles. Jack wasn’t the only one being tested tonight.

_One hour, twenty minutes. Possibly._  
  
The sound of the hatch opening jolted him into awareness of the present. Ianto went down onto his heels to stand firmly on his feet, ignoring the protest of his shoulder joints as he did so.  
  
The squeak of rubber on tile and a whiff of pheromones told Ianto that Jack was right in front of him. He opened his eyes and discovered that he could see the tops of two beige boots through the bottom of the blindfold.  
  
“Comfy?” Jack asked.  
  
“No, Sir.”  
  
Jack chuckled. “I know.  That’s rather the point.”  
  
A hand ruffled Ianto’s hair and he made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a cross between a purr and a whimper. Warm fingers brushed his wrists, slipping between the bruised flesh and the cuffs, then stroked his fingertips. Ianto was so starved for sensation even those brief, gentle touches felt amazing, though he was puzzled as to what Jack doing.  
  
Jack made a satisfied grunt and took his hand away.  
  
“You’re doing well, Ianto. But I don’t think you’ve quite learned your lesson yet. Do you?”  
  
Ianto rather thought he had, actually. He opened his mouth to speak, and realized that both of the “proper” options available to him would make it sound like he agreed with Jack.  
  
Which Jack undoubtedly knew.  It wasn’t fair.  
  
“Yes, Sir,” Ianto picked.  
  
“I thought so! In that case then, we’ll just leave you up there a bit longer, let you think on things some more.”  
  
Ianto felt faint.  
  
“But you’ve been so good, I’m going to give you something to take the edge off. Would you like that?”  
  
Ianto didn’t know what “take the edge off” meant, beyond that it wasn’t “let you down now.”  But he knew better than to ask. At least Jack didn’t sound angry with him anymore.  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
Jack crouched down, and Ianto caught a glimpse of glossy black hair before Jack’s tongue licked a stripe down his cock. It was warm, wet and glorious. Ianto yelped in a most undignified manner at the sudden contact. (Why he cared about his dignity at this point was beyond him, but he still did.)  
  
Jack licked again, then glanced up. Ianto caught a glimpse of a cat-that-got-the-cream grin and shut his eyes before Jack realized he could see, albeit limitedly. Jack licked a few more times, then stopped. Ianto peeked under the blindfold but Jack had moved of his line of sight. His hips strained forward, trying to get the contact back.  
  
Then Jack was back. There came a brush of fingers and something cool and wet was smoothed onto his cock.  
  
 _‘Lube,’_ Ianto’s mind supplied.  
  
His cock responded enthusiastically, earning an appreciative little laugh from Jack.  
  
 _‘Practically Pavlovian,'_ a detached part of Ianto’s mind observed. _'That bell had nothing on a little lube. Of course Jack probably has a lot to do with it...'_  
  
“Oh, you’re going to like this.” Jack said, interrupting Ianto’s mad train of thought.  
  
Something enveloped the tip of his cock, sending sensation shooting down it. It didn't feel Jack’s mouth, or hand, or anything that could be part of a person.  
  
The _something_ worked its way down his cock, guided by Jack’s hands, gently but firmly sheathing his member in from tip to root.  
  
With a flash, Ianto realized what it was.  
  
 _‘Masturbator’_ , he thought, groaning with a combination of need and dread as his arousal grew.  
  
The tube-shaped device fit snugly and could be set to vibrate at five different “stroking” speeds. It was made of an ingenious blend of rubber and plastic which made it both flexible enough for comfort and sturdy enough to contain the electronics that produced effects that no human being was capable of.  
  
They’d used it once before when, after a night of passion that had left Ianto sprawled boneless and dozing across Jack’s bed, Jack had bet that he could make Ianto come again. Ianto had gone along with it, confident that he knew what his body was capable of better than Jack did. Jack had then produced the item in question, and Ianto had proceeded to lose in spectacular fashion.  
  
Despite the fact that the masturbator had achieved the impossible and Ianto supposed he should be grateful, it wasn’t his favorite toy in Jack’s collection. The very thing about it that made it so effective, its sheer relentlessness, also made it feel mechanical and impersonal. Even though it had  blown his mind (and his cock), the overall experience had made him uneasy in some indefinable way that had nothing to do with losing the bet.  
  
Too, he’d found more than a little humiliating, to be, well, milked like that, with a machine that _glowed in the dark._ Bright yellow, nonetheless.  
  
And Jack knew all this, damn him. He’d made Ianto tell him, in excruciating detail, what he’d thought of everything they’d tried. To his credit, Jack had listened attentively, eyes alight with curiosity, and then the masturbator had disappeared. Until now.  
  
Jack stroked his fingers down Ianto’s sheathed cock, the pressure just barely registering through the layers of rubber. Suddenly the device powered on, and Ianto had to consciously bite down to keep from crying out.  
  
It was just as impersonal as Ianto remembered (if something doing something so utterly personal could even be called that), but all those vibrations concentrated on Ianto’s most sensitive areas were as overwhelming as he remembered, too. Instinctively he tried to move away.  
  
Jack’s hand on his hip steadied him.  
  
“Easy, there. Hold still.”  
  
After a bit of a struggle with himself, Ianto managed to stop moving, save for the fact that his legs were trembling. There was nothing he could do about that.  
  
“Ohh, that’s good. So good. You’re so hot like this,” Jack murmured.  
  
‘ _You have no idea,’_ Ianto thought, feeling sweat beading on his brow under the blindfold. The vibrations stroked his cock in a slow, steady rhythm, hitting every sensitive spot along the way. Then they did it again.  
  
“Don’t fight it. Just relax into it.”  
  
 _‘Easy for you to say,’_ Ianto thought wildly, but he realized Jack was right. The thing was going to have its way with him regardless of what he did. It wouldn’t get tired, or a cramp, or anything else a human being might do. With effort, he pulled in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Then another. He could feel himself starting to succumb. He had to admit, once you got used to it, it felt pretty damn good.  
  
“That’s it, that’s it,” Jack encouraged. There was a faint “click”, and the stroking motions speeded up.  
  
Ianto threw his head back and uttered a long, low cry as wave after wave of pressure moved across his cock. He found himself thrusting into the device that he’d been trying to escape only moments before.  
  
Jack chuckled, low and sexy, and turned the speed up again.  
  
 _‘Ah, Duw,'_ Ianto gasped. Then he forgot to breathe altogether, because he was coming so hard and so fast it _hurt._  
  
“Good boy.” Jack sounded genuinely proud as Ianto shuddered through his orgasm.  
  
His cock pulsed a final time and his whole body went limp. Jack tugged a couple of times, and the device slipped off his softening member. Ianto shuddered as the cool air hit his overheated, over-sensitized flesh, but he was more focused on the warm glow in his chest that had nothing to do with his orgasm.  
  
 _‘He said I did good.’_ Jack was proud of him. Surely his release was imminent.  
  
Ianto hung loosely in the restraints, head down, afterglow suffusing his limbs, and waited to be let down. Suddenly Jack’s lips pressed against his own, and Ianto responded eagerly, only to have Jack pull away. Ianto sighed, but consoled himself with the fact that he would soon be free and could show Jack his appreciation properly.  
  
When Jack spoke, the words were like a splash of cold water.  
  
“I really like the look of you like that, so you’re going to stay put a little longer.”  
  
Ianto’s head jerked up, and his mouth dropped open in surprise.  
  
“I know you can do it. For me, Ianto.”  
  
Jack’s fingers brushed across the back of his neck. The combination of the feather-light touch and Jack’s authoritative tone sent chills down Ianto’s spine.  
  
Jack didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He was joking. He…  
  
The “clank” of the metal hatch closing proved Ianto wrong.  
  



	4. Chapter Four

Ianto had no idea how much time had passed.

Once he’d come down from the endorphin high, he’d started to get sleepy.  Pushing himself up on his toes took grew more difficult each time, and it took more effort to keep himself there. He ached from head to heels. He desperately wanted to lie down, to rest, to nap, but it didn’t seem like he was going to be allowed to do that anytime soon.

Finally, he gave up and sagged in the restraints, ignoring the bite of metal at his wrists for the moment, and let his mind drift.

Random images popped up unbidden.

He was standing on the Plass, making a list in his head of errands he had to run, when he realized he’d forgotten his coat.

_‘That’s why it’s so chilly,’_ he thought. _‘I'll just go back and get it."_

He reached for the door of the Tourist Office, but his hand caught on something. He jerked it. Pain shot through his wrist and radiated down his arm, and he opened his eyes. Everything was dark save for a strip of light at the bottom of his vision, but the stickiness on his cock and the stiffness in his muscles told him exactly where he was.  
  
 _‘Dreaming’,_ he realized. He fidgeted in his restraints trying to get into a more comfortable position. There didn’t seem to be one. God, he was so tired. He closed his eyes again.  
  
He could hear voices. First there were two, then more joined in. One seemed to be speaking in a foreign language, and one sounded like a child. On some level he knew that wasn’t possible, that the Hub was empty save for himself and Jack, but focusing on the voices was preferable to being aching and alone. He could make out a few words, but they didn’t make sense. If he just concentrated harder…  
  
Vivid images flashed across his mind.  
  
 _‘Dreaming again,’_ the last shred of his conscious awareness noted, but that wasn’t enough to dispel them this time.  
  
Not that he wanted them to go. They were the stuff of his childhood fantasies. He’d had variations of these fantasies long as he could remember, but they had changed over the years as he’d matured. 

He was a young, noble outlaw who had been captured and chained up in a dungeon. Guards came and questioned him as to the whereabouts of the rest of his band. When he refused to answer, they’d sent for the Evil Queen herself. She too questioned him, and when he remained silent, she started to… do things to him. She touched him all over, and mocked him when he got hard. She teased his cock with her fingers and when he still refused to talk, she pushed things inside his arse.  She threatened him with larger objects, or to put him on the rack, even in the noose, if he didn’t tell.  He never did.  
  
The fantasy ended when Ianto came into his own hand, under the covers in his little bedroom at his parents’ house, his face burning with shame.  
  
Not this time. He got to the part where he was caught and dragged to the dungeon, and then, in the manner of dreams, it changed into another scenario.  
  
He was a teenage stow-away on a pirate ship. He’d run away for adventure and excitement but got more than he bargained for when he was caught raiding the galley one night.  
  
Now he was bound with ropes and dragged before the Captain who gave him a choice—become his personal cabin boy, or walk the plank. The men around him leered at his naked body (they’d stripped him when they found him) leaving little doubt in Ianto’s mind what sort of duties he’d be performing.  
  
A spray of cold water struck him, and Ianto trembled on the deck as he regarded the Captain towering over him. Gulls squawked overhead, and he envied their freedom as he considered this terrible choice. He heard the “clank” of an anchor hitting the deck behind him as he stalled for time.  
  
Someone grabbed him from behind and he bit his lip to keep silent, knowing intuitively that showing fear or weakness in front of these men would only make things worse. A hand cupped his arse, and he heard a low chuckle, full of wicked intent, behind him.  
  
A finger slid into the cleft between his arse cheeks and he tried to pull away, but the arm wrapped around his chest and held him fast. The finger pressed against his entrance, teasing.  
  
 _‘Oh God, oh Duw,’_ Ianto thought.  
  
The finger pushed inside, and it was unexpectedly slippery and wet.  
  
 _‘Lube,’_ thought Ianto, with a strange sense of _deja-vu_.  
  
The finger withdrew, and Ianto had time to wonder exactly who was violating him this way, because the Captain was still grinning down at him.  
  
‘ _First Mate, maybe’_. Then the finger returned, with a mate of its own.  
  
Two fingers pressed inward, and while there was no pain, there was pressure. The fingers wriggled and twisted, and nerve endings Ianto didn’t know he had responded, lighting up the pleasure circuits in his brain. Blood was pounding in his cock and in his head, and he felt a bit dizzy, not really himself. Which must be why, even though part of him was still waiting for the arm around him to relax its grip so he could attempt an escape, he found himself pushing back on the fingers as they withdrew.  
  
Another chuckle, and without warning there were three fingers. This time it stung. Ianto squirmed, trying to get away, but the arm held him fast, pressing him against a starchy cotton shirt whose buttons dug into his back.  
  
All the fight went out of him then, and he stilled, in both body and mind. If it wasn’t for the arm holding him fast he would have tumbled to the deck.  A hand, calloused and strong, palmed his cock and he did vocalize then, not caring what the hell anyone thought.  
  
“Yeah— _oh yeah_ ," he gasped.  
  
The hand gave him a few welcome strokes, then wrapped around tight as the fingers withdrew. Ianto moaned. Something hard pushed against his entrance, and he felt a brief flare of panic, and then the something was pressing slowly but relentlessly inside him.  Held firmly in place by the hand on his cock…  
  
 _‘The fuck, it’s not a handle! Oh god, that feels good though_.’  
  
… he had no choice but to take it.  
  
The cock slid home and Ianto’s eyes flew open. Even in the near-dark, it only took fraction of a second to realize where he was, and who it was that was fucking him.  
  
Ianto’s eyes closed again blissfully as his hips were pushed forward, and then jerked backwards.  
  
It was the Captain after all. 

\---- ---- ---- ----  
  
"That's good, Ianto, that's so good, oh _yes_!"  
  
Jack came first; Ianto immediately after.  Ianto’s cock was still spasming with aftershocks when Jack pulled out, and Ianto groaned his protest at the sudden emptiness he felt.  
  
“S’OK. It’s over. I’m going to get you down now.”  
  
Ianto was shaking from pleasure and aching from his ordeal, and _getting down now_ seemed like a really good idea.  
  
The rope holding him in place went slack, and his arms flopped, heavy and uncontrollable, in front of him, his wrists still held in place by the cuffs. Jack’s arm tightened his grip on his chest, steadying him.  
  
“Here we go. This way.”  
  
Jack guided him a few stumbling steps, then stopped.  
  
“The bed’s right under you. Sit.”  
  
Ianto’s knees buckled, and he fell more than sat.  The cot’s thin mattress had never felt more welcoming. Jack lifted his wrists, there was the “snick” of a small lock releasing, and Ianto’s arms were finally free. He let them fall into his lap.  
  
The bed sagged as Jack sat beside him. Fingers brushed across his forehead.  
  
“I’m going to take off the blindfold now, OK?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Ianto managed.  
  
A few tugs and Ianto was blinking in the sudden brightness. Jack’s face swam before him, blue eyes sparkling, brow furrowed with concern.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
There were many terms, highly descriptive ones, for what Ianto was feeling, and “all right” was probably the biggest understatement of them all. But it seemed important to Jack, so he nodded.  
  
“Good.” He held up a bottle of water. “Thirsty?”  
  
Ianto nodded again, and Jack handed it to him. The water was icy cold, and Ianto polished off the entire thing before coming up for air.  
  
"You were thirsty,” Jack observed, smiling.  
  
“A little bit, yeah.”  
  
“How are those wrists?”  
  
“Sir?” Ianto gazed down at them. They were free. He was free. Even though he was so exhausted he felt like he’d never rise from the bed again, inside he was flying.  
  
Jack took the water bottle from Ianto and placed it on the floor, then grasped Ianto’s left forearm and ran his fingertips around it, leaving little trails of goosebumps behind. He set that arm down, reached across Ianto’s lap, and did the same with the other one.  
  
Ianto watched him passively, his sluggish mind belatedly realizing that Jack was looking for cuts or tears in his skin. There weren’t any, though his wrists was plenty red, with dark bruises starting to form. Ianto suspected that they would look quite lurid tomorrow. He’d have to keep his sleeves rolled down, for sure. It was too bad, in a way. He’d have liked to be able to look at them. They were badges of honor, a testament to what he’d endured for Jack. A test he’d passed. 

Now that the formalities were out of the way, Jack visibly relaxed. He adjusted his trousers, which had been gaping obscenely, then leaned back on his elbows and gazed at Ianto with something that looked like adoration.  
  
“Ianto, that was… you were...”

Seeing the Captain at a loss for words helped Ianto find his.  
  
“I take it that was acceptable, Sir?”  
  
“Acceptable? That was amazing. _You_ are amazing. Where have you been all my life?”  
  
“Very funny, Sir. Next you’ll be telling me Heaven must be missing an angel.” His arms were going all pins-and-needles, and he shook them out as he spoke.  
  
“I’m serious. Why didn’t we meet earlier? That would have been something.”  
  
“No offense, Sir, but it never would have worked.” He winced as the tingling in his arms increased.  
  
Jack launched himself at Ianto, tackling him and pulling him down onto the bed in a big hug.  
  
“Sure it would have,” Jack went on, as if this were a real discussion.  
  
Maybe for him it was. Jack tended to get chatty right after sex, and sometimes downright hyper. Ianto couldn’t say the same. Now that he was properly lying down, sleep was coming for him, hard. He barely stirred when Jack started to rub his right arm for him.  
  
“What if you’d stayed local instead of running off to London when you left home, and we’d met then?" Jack continued on, oblivious to Ianto’s jaw-cracking yawn.  
  
“I would have been far too young for you, Sir,” Ianto murmured, eyes closing.  
  
The defiant young outlaw/stowaway in his head begged to disagree, but he pushed that thought away. Fantasy is one thing. Reality is another. He had been naïve as hell when he left home, and there’s no way he could have handled the Captain then. He’s not sure he can handle him now.  
  
He’s learning to, though. The happy, satiated Jack that is nattering on as if he hasn’t a care in the world is quite different to the Atlas that Ianto sees at work most days, and he, Ianto Jones, has done that for him. 

Ianto smiled at the thought.

“You’re not listening, are you?” Jack traced Ianto’s lips with his fingertips. “What are you thinking?”

“Hmm… I’m thinking that’s the last time I share any of my deep, dark fantasies with you.”

“Oh, really? Well, I’ll just have to find other ways to get the information out of you then.”

“You can try,” Ianto yawned again. “But I’ll have you know, it never works.”

Jack propped himself up on his elbow and grinned down at Ianto.

“That sounds like a challenge.

“Maybe it is.”

He fell asleep with the smile still on his lips.

  



End file.
